Memories

I was the soft breeze last night. The breeze that touched your brown hair while you were swirling on your toes. I was the vague and smoky words last night. The words that you held tightly in your hands but they slipped like grains of sand through the ridges of your fingers.

I think I'm losing myself. I'm slowly merging into a red wall that does not emote even when its ripped off the moist cement that embraces it. I can't touch myself because how can you touch a flicker, a siren, a shriek. I can instead touch you and evoke an indolent spark of childish wants and needs. Touch has a memory. Memories are omnipresent. It remembers the hollowness you had carved out to stuff in your fear. It remembers and it makes you remember as the fear needs to be vanquished.